


easy like do re mi

by pixiepower



Series: the things you want to have [1]
Category: Pentagon (Korea Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Height Differences, Inkigayo Hook-up, Inkigayo Hookup Cinematic Universe, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Seungkwan Sexy, they’re in loooooooooove (or close enough)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27222091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: “If you want a tall boyfriend, why even look outside of your group?” Mingyu teases, puffing up his chest and wiggling his shoulders meaningfully.“He’s almost 189,” Seungkwan snaps before adding, “And he’s not my boyfriend.”
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Jung Wooseok
Series: the things you want to have [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199897
Comments: 9
Kudos: 125
Collections: The Inkigayo Bathroom Cinematic Universe





	easy like do re mi

**Author's Note:**

> title from “do re mi” by seventeen.
> 
> [ria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skateboardachoo), you poured sand in a sandbox and said “let us play,” and so here i am! thank you for your super duper galactic wrinkly shar pei origami brain!!!!!!!
> 
>  **note:** in this fic there is brief (throwaway, one-line) mention of canon-typical dieting and plastic surgery. if you need additional warnings please do not hesitate to reach out!

“I don’t know when Inkigayo turned into the premier honeymoon destination,” Seungkwan sighs, fake-knocking Mingyu’s head into the wall.

Mingyu stumbles just enough to let Seungkwan feel accomplished, letting his foot catch his step and swinging his body back before his head gets even a little close to making contact with hallway concrete in a surprising feat of dexterity. “Do you think the stylists and coordis get hazard pay when we come here?”

Snorting, Seungkwan says, “You’d know better than me.”

Shoulders shrugging up to his ears, Mingyu’s cheeky grin tells Seungkwan that there’s a lot that Mingyu knows. He’s just not sure he wants to hear it, especially if it has to do with  _ how  _ he has obtained this information. There’s a time and a place.

Granted, both the time and the place seem to be the Inkigayo filming location, considering the general understanding that music show activities are split into two: what happens onstage, filmed for posterity, owned in perpetuity by SBS, ideally distributed across every possible SNS to go viral and bring attention to their group; and what happens backstage. Which decidedly is not meant for anyone’s eyes but theirs, what little privacy they can grab by the throat (or any other body part, frankly) worth preserving.

It’s a delicate ecosystem, and Seungkwan doesn’t know a lot about science, but he absolutely knows about mutually beneficial relationships after almost nine years in this business.

Luckily Seungkwan keeps just as many secrets as he has, because he’s craning his neck as he and Mingyu weave down the hall toward where the sound is growing much louder, eyes peeled for an easy face to pick out in the crowd.

“If you want a tall boyfriend, why even look outside of your group?” Mingyu teases, puffing up his chest and wiggling his shoulders meaningfully.

“He’s almost 189,” Seungkwan snaps before adding, “And he’s not my boyfriend.” He cuts his eyes at Mingyu and digs his toe into the back of his shoe, peeling the back of it off Mingyu’s foot just a little. Mingyu really does stumble this time, which feels very satisfying, actually.

“Where’s Hansolie, he puts up with your shit.”

Seungkwan laughs, eyes still scanning the throng of bodies piled into the corridor probably beyond the fire marshal’s legal limit. “He’s over there, you big baby.”

Mingyu follows Seungkwan’s point to where Hansol’s leaned up against the wall, sharing his AirPods and grinning down at his phone with Hyunggu, hands cradling the case together, and Seungkwan’s heart leaps into his throat. Where there is Hyunggu, there is—

“Hi,” Wooseok says as he ambles over, holding his facial features like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to smile in the presence of company. His shoulders still look so wide in his suit despite the way he’s a little folded in on himself, arms squeezed together with terrible force of habit.

Seungkwan beams up at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” says Mingyu, grinning toothily at them, eyes narrowed with implication.

“Bye,” Seungkwan huffs with a roll of his eyes, grabbing for Wooseok’s hand and tugging him back the way he and Mingyu came.

“Uh, bye, Mingyu-ssi!”

Seungkwan shakes his head, trying to remember where the last bathroom he passed was. Next to the dressing room LOONA is using? “You don’t need to bother with Mingyu.”

Wooseok laughs, then, finally, and the warm sound of it tingles through Seungkwan, breaking his smile open in full. “It’d be rude not to at least say hello.”

“Any minute not spent with your hands on me is a minute wasted,” Seungkwan says under his breath as he and Wooseok bow at a soft-faced woman with a headset ushering a rookie group in plaid shorts down the hall, who bow and beam at them, in turn.

“Well, okay, then,” Wooseok replies in a tight kind of voice once they’re out of earshot, his hand floating to the small of Seungkwan’s back, fingertips slipping underneath the flat of the belt cinching in his waist.

Wooseok always lets Seungkwan lead the way. It feeds something inside of Seungkwan, the implicit trust that Wooseok gives him no matter the task. Asking him to barbecue on KKT, tugging him into closets, listening to music recommendations, pushing his stupidly broad chest through the too-bright bathroom and banging clumsily into a stall just to finally pop up onto tiptoe and press their mouths together.

Every time is after too long a wait.

Maybe Mingyu had a point. They can’t—they can’t use words like that, but Seungkwan can have feelings like that, and that’s basically the same thing in this business.

Wooseok is so  _ big.  _ Seungkwan loves lacing his arms around his neck and pulling himself up to kiss him, line their bodies up chest to thigh and sigh into his mouth, feeling delicate when Wooseok’s hands hold his face by the jaw. 

This never gets old.

Who gives a shit if 98 liners aren’t, like, known for talking? Seungkwan is friendly with Eunbi and Yewon and Moonbin, already has a same age friend in his own goddamn group, and he has  _ this.  _

Kissing him like he just got back from his service, Wooseok’s hands slide down Seungkwan’s back, gentle but firm over his hips, slowly rounding over the swell of the back of his polka-dot pants. With firm purchase under the curve of Seungkwan’s ass, Wooseok rocks their bodies together as they make out, and Seungkwan’s breathing starts to come quicker, huffed sharp and needy through his nose.

“These could stand to be a little tighter,” Wooseok breathes, and Seungkwan laughs, feeling his cheeks heat up pleasantly. “Wanna—can I?” Wooseok’s eyes follow Seungkwan as he lets himself down gently onto the flats of his feet again, favoring his ankle the way his doctor recommended and feeling a little dizzy as he blinks up at Wooseok.

Seungkwan doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking for, but from previous experience, he is very amenable to whatever Wooseok wants to do with him.

“Uh huh,” he manages, and Wooseok’s hands tighten on his backside, eliciting a half-moaned squeak from Seungkwan. If Seungkwan’s knees go a little weak at the gesture, who’s here to tell on him? This is between him and his warped reflection in the shiny fixtures of the bathroom stall. 

Face lighting up at Seungkwan’s permission, Wooseok moves to go to the floor but hesitates, legs slightly bent like he’s about to jump.

“My—there’s not enough space, my feet are going to stick out.”

That is totally true. They’re already crowded way too close just standing in here, much less with Wooseok folded up. Seungkwan has a brief but vivid vision of it, of someone, anyone, walking in with their face glued to their phone and tripping over the chunky soles of Wooseok’s shoes hanging out of the stall like in the Wizard of Oz, sending them sprawling and slamming their new nose into the sparkling Inkigayo bathroom half-tiled wall.

He giggles at the mental picture, and Wooseok gazes down at him with quizzical eyes and a smile flickering between fondness and humor. “What?”

“It’s okay,” Seungkwan waves off, looking over his shoulder and doing some quick mental math, both of some literal dimensional estimates and of how willing he is to get dirty to  _ get dirty. _

Though, these bathrooms are awfully clean. They probably have a very rigorous cleaning schedule here. Seungkwan can’t imagine they aren’t aware of what goes on, especially after the sandwich thing was revealed. Do the SBS custodians have to sign NDAs?

“Hey,” Wooseok nudges, and luckily for him Seungkwan’s already made up his mind.

He cocks his head at an angle, indicating the toilet just behind him. “Help me up?”

Wooseok stares for a beat, eyes flicking down at the admittedly ivory-white toilet, lid down and practically pristine, then back at Seungkwan, whose lower lip is caught between his teeth. His confusion morphs into understanding. Through laughter, he says, “Okay,” wraps both hands around Seungkwan’s waist—which does some more work at fattening his dick up in his stage pants—and hoists Seungkwan up onto the toilet, shiny black shoes firm on either side of the lid and his arms out wide for balance.

“You’re so light,” Wooseok marvels. He’s long past discussing diet with Seungkwan, and Seungkwan’s long past discussing diet with anyone, really, but it still sends a little thrill through him when Wooseok smooths one hand down his front like he can feel his flat tummy through the layers of his outfit. “And this makes your waist look so small.”

Melting under the compliments, Seungkwan stares down at Wooseok, whose mouth is pursed thoughtfully.

“This looks a little dangerous.”

“I live for danger,” Seungkwan says without thinking, and then winces. Why the fuck would he say that? His frown wobbles when his knees do, and the embarrassment mounts.

Wooseok’s other hand is still on his waist. “You got it? I don’t have to—I mean, we can make some time and I can—we can just, or at the dorm, you know?”

His earnestness and furrowed brow are so fucking cute as he gazes up at Seungkwan. 

Oh. Right. That’s new. 

Like this, Seungkwan has maybe twenty centimeters of height on Wooseok. In the grand scheme of things it’s not all that much, really, Wooseok is still so tall, but Seungkwan can finally see every glittery glimmer of overhead light reflected in his deep brown eyes. His stomach flips, and not because he’s nauseous from nerves or stage exertion.

Seungkwan slowly pulls one hand away from the wall of the stall and traces his face, small fingers delicate on his cheek, before he rests it on Wooseok’s shoulder.

“Wooseokie,” Seungkwan murmurs, and watches Wooseok’s tongue dart out to wet his lips. “Feel.”

He moves his other hand down to cradle between Wooseok’s fingers where they rest on his stomach, pushing his hand down gently, further and further until he exhales softly, Wooseok’s hand spread out where Seungkwan’s still hard. His big hand is hot even through the layers, and his thumb caresses the hidden shape of Seungkwan’s dick, teasing a little at the head and coaxing a whine out of the back of Seungkwan’s throat.

“God. Yeah. I want to,” Wooseok says, like he’s assuring Seungkwan more than himself, and shrugs out of his jacket, quickly half-rolling it over his arms into a cushion before he drops to his knees.

His limbs are so long, and he can undo Seungkwan’s belt, unzip his fly, and tug his pants down with ease even from the floor. Wooseok is kicked all the way up onto his knees, not sitting back on his heels. If anyone walked in, there would be no mistaking what’s going on. Or, rather, what’s about to go on.

As it is, the square toes of Wooseok’s dress shoes might get a little scuffed on the shiny linoleum floor, and something a little prideful sparks inside Seungkwan about it. A secret, tiny little reminder that not even the coordis can fault Wooseok for, if they even catch it at all. Seungkwan wouldn’t give him any trouble to contend with except for his own attitude, anyway.

“Oh,” Seungkwan groans, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a moan as Wooseok licks over his cock, big cow eyes glittering with satisfaction when Seungkwan fills out in his mouth.

He’s heard nightmarish stories from his members; boys who look like Wooseok do not often act like Wooseok acts. They don’t curl their shoulders in, try to take up less space, pile their legs into chairs too small for them. And they least of all can be found like this, with warm, hungry handfuls of Seungkwan’s ass and mouthfuls of dick like it’s the special skill on their CV and the charming point at their fanmeetings.

Seungkwan has a lot to be thankful for, he knows that. He’s reminded of it every day, with the ring on his pinky and the figures in his bank account and the rush he gets onstage. But this is something else entirely. 

Wooseok is keeping a rhythm all himself, tonguing along Seungkwan’s length, uniquely focused the way he sometimes gets when he’s working on new lyrics, this earnest look in his eyes like nothing could ever be more important to him than what’s right in front of him. It makes Seungkwan’s body go wobbly to think that to this big, beautiful boy he might be something worth having. Seungkwan’s hand flies out to steady himself, smacking loudly against the side of the stall as he trembles, half at the enormity of his emotion and half at the way Wooseok is swallowing around him.

From half a meter below him Wooseok is blinking up at Seungkwan, brow set, like the moment Seungkwan’s legs give out he’ll be there to catch him. And Seungkwan believes he actually will.

“S’good, wuh, Wooseok,” Seungkwan slurs, mouth clumsy with thick adoration, held back only by the gasps and  _ unh  _ noises Wooseok is so efficient at pulling out of him. “Love your hands on my ass.”

Wooseok exhales sharply from his nose, moaning around his mouthful of cock, and Seungkwan keens. 

Fuck being quiet. If none of their sunbaes ever got caught with their pants literally around their ankles at a Music Show, Seungkwan will sell off his entire Wonder Girls collection and denounce being Wonderful literally forever. He glances up into the fluorescents and bids a silent apology to Sunmi and HA:TFELT, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he whines, Wooseok kneading his hands into the flesh of his ass as if to remind Seungkwan just how big and gentle his hands are.

Seungkwan wishes they could have more space. He wants to get both his hands around Wooseok’s mouthwateringly big cock and reward him for all his hard work, a better prize for a first win than a flimsy Show Champion trophy and a flirty-but-appropriate selca with a  _ congratulations  _ sticker.

Seungkwan wishes they could have more time, like the night he went over after Wooseok finished a VLive and instead of falling asleep together like he kind of expected them to, Wooseok spread him open and fucked him slow and deep, and Seungkwan Ka-Talked Jeonghan afterward and told him he thinks he knows what they mean when they say  _ making love  _ and Jeonghan wrote back that his number was no longer in service.

Desperation is mounting, their time is probably running out, and Seungkwan wishes they could have  _ more. _

He’s reached the point where he’s babbling, brain-to-mouth filter totally torn out. “I like when they style your hair down, you look so nice like this,” Seungkwan pants, rocking his hips in aborted movements and watching his dick disappear over and over into Wooseok’s mouth. “You look soft,” he whines.  _ Like a boyfriend. _

Wooseok’s eyes crinkle in the corners, and he pulls himself off, tilting his head to the side fondly to gaze allll the way up at Seungkwan, whose flush must be redder than Wonwoo’s dye job. “I like you so much,” Wooseok says almost incredulously, laughter dancing on the edge of it, sinking back down on Seungkwan’s cock, and Seungkwan loses it without warning.

“Fuck, oh, God,” he whimpers, and he lets out a cry as his orgasm slams into him.

He’s barely able to keep himself up as his thighs quiver and he comes in pulses into Wooseok’s mouth, Wooseok gently sucking him through the aftershocks until Seungkwan taps his hand on the wall insistently from overstimulation. 

Wooseok’s hands are steady and soothing, rubbing gently over the backs of Seungkwan’s thighs, and when Seungkwan finally stops shaking he helps Seungkwan step down off the toilet, supporting the side with his weak ankle without even having to be reminded. 

God, Seungkwan is so super fucked.

Wooseok wobbles up into a standing position and spits into the toilet. Seungkwan feels like a genius for all of three seconds before he watches Wooseok fumble for the button on his pants, pull out his dick, and move to jerk himself off roughly into the bowl.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Seungkwan says frantically, he wants to  _ help,  _ but Wooseok just whines and shakes his head, fisting his cock.

“Can’t, can’t—”

Seungkwan reaches up and kisses Wooseok deep and filthy, licking into him with all the gratefulness and affection he can muster. He can taste himself in his mouth, and they both moan into the kiss, Wooseok’s voice cutting out halfway through and returning as a low, masculine grunt when he comes that’s so sexy it makes Seungkwan’s eyes roll back in his head a little.

Heavy breaths litter the stall, puffing out between them where they can’t stop kissing each other, despite the way Wooseok’s neck must be killing him and the way Seungkwan is trying to cop a feel masquerading as helping Wooseok zip his pants back up.

Seungkwan stumbles a little and gasps, turning a big, wide-eyed, apologetic face up to Wooseok. “I stepped on your jacket!”

Wooseok shrugs. “I’m eighty percent sure Shinwon-hyung fully lost his anyway. The noonas will forgive me.”

Nodding, Seungkwan pulls his own pants back up the rest of the way and holds his arms out, like,  _ presentable? _

“You look perfect,” Wooseok says in this low little way, and suddenly Seungkwan has burnt through all his eye contact ability and has to stare at his own warped reflection in his shoes. They look absolutely dainty, fifth position between Wooseok’s giant ones. Seungkwan should bring up to his doctor all these heart palpitations next time they rotate his ankle. It’s probably not normal.

Wooseok wipes at his mouth with some toilet paper, taking whatever’s left of his liptint with it. Seungkwan refuses to look at the toilet again when Wooseok goes for the handle. All the evidence is flushable, anyway. 

Well. Besides the thunderous, ineffable feeling in the pit of Seungkwan’s stomach.

“I wish we didn’t—”

“Are you gonna—”

Seungkwan pauses with his hand on the stall latch. “What?”

Wooseok rubs one ear against his shoulder. “Oh,” he laughs sheepishly, “I was just thinking if you had some time soon maybe we could get together.”

It’s happening. Seungkwan can feel it, the wavering mouth and prickling eyes that are usually reserved for watching romance movies with his mother or the first take of a new OST. He pushes the stall door open and walks into the open middle of the bathroom. He turns to look at Wooseok, whose shoulders fill the opening in entirety, like a lumbering vampire waiting to be invited in. Seungkwan’s smile tugs at his face and he can’t help but laugh.

“What?” Wooseok asks, features scrunching up in the middle of his face as he finally steps out of the stall. “Seungkwan-ah.”

And that clinches it. His name sounds like a wish in Wooseok’s mouth, and Seungkwan takes a running start, praying his shoes don’t slip on this overpolished flooring. He leaps just a little, sorry to Dr. Park, and throws his arms around Wooseok’s neck.

“Be careful!” Wooseok yelps, panicked.

But as expected, Wooseok catches him, hands on his waist, soft lips sliding against his. Matching him with confused but pleased energy. 

Seungkwan grins. “Yeah, I think I can pencil you in.”

**Author's Note:**

> i did the math, if you want to see it: wooseok up on his knees is the perfect height for seungkwan standing on the toilet. you will not catch me slipping.
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


End file.
